Three Heads
by erolyn2
Summary: "Perhaps I should marry them both and be done with it." Daenerys decides to marry Jorah Mormont AND Daario Naharis, but can she handle them both? AU from ASOS.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Obviously I don't own ASOIAF or Game of Thrones, because if I did I would be much richer.

**AN:** "_Could I love Daario? What would it mean, if I took him into my bed? Would that make him one of the heads of the dragon?_ _Ser Jorah would be angry, she knew, but he was the one who'd said she had to take two husbands_. _Perhaps I should marry them both and be done with it." - _A Storm of Swords

AU from the above moment in ASOS. Daenerys decides to take two husbands, but can she handle them both?

Rated M for...well, it's their wedding night, so you can guess. Also I've never written...things...of such a nature...before...so apologies for the quality of said writings.

Written for mrstater's prompt at asoiafkinkmeme. And many thanks to pheonikxs for her encouragement (even though she's already done an awesome job filling the same prompt).

* * *

Daenerys Targaryen did not summon Jorah Mormont to her until the second night after their wedding.

She had donned a Qartheen gown for the occasion, and she traced her fingers along the violet silk as she waited. She felt strangely calm.

The previous evening, Queen Daenerys had given Meereen not one, but two kings. _The dragon has three heads_, Ser Jorah had told her, and so she had decided to simply marry them both: the man who loved her and the man she desired. It was perhaps the strangest wedding in living memory; the Queen smiling in her _tokar_ at the head of the hall, with a blue-haired Tyroshi sellsword grinning at her left side and her Westerosi knight scowling at her right.

She had spent the first night with Daario. She knew it was cruel to Ser Jorah, but one of them had to be second, and she had wanted to sleep with Daario Naharis from the moment he had swaggered into her tent outside of Yunkai. Jorah had waited for her this long, he could wait a bit longer. _It isn't as though either of them would have had my maidenhead, so what does it matter?_

Her bear had been angry anyway, of course, until she had calmly told him he was welcome to join her and Daario on their wedding night. Jorah had turned even redder at that, and stormed off, and she had not seen him again until the ceremony.

It was fortunate that he had not taken her offer seriously_. That would have been a disaster__._ Dany was certain both men would sooner murder each other.

She still feared their marriage might end that way. The warlocks in the House of the Undying had told her the dragon had three heads, but she knew she could hardly have chosen two heads more likely to tear each other apart. Only their love for her forced them to tolerate one another – and Daenerys still wondered whether Daario Naharis loved her at all. Or whether she loved him - or Ser Jorah. Both, neither, one and not the other…but it did not matter. She had wed them both the same, and all three would share the consequence of it.

_I must keep them separate. I must not think of one when I am with the other. That is the only way this will work. _But she had spent the whole day thinking of both her husbands, and worrying about them both. She could still feel Daario's hands on her, could still see the glint of his smile when she closed her eyes. And yet when she thought of the evening to come, she also tasted the sweetness of Jorah's mouth, and felt the roughness of his beard, and remembered the way her nipples had hardened at his touch.

Dany was not sure she had been entirely truthful in Yunkai, when she had told Ser Jorah she did not desire him. It had seemed better, at the time, to choose the harder answer than to lead him along without one. But now they were wed. She had married him. And Daario Naharis as well.

For a moment she could not remember why she had done it. Had she simply wed one man to bed him, and another because she could not bear to hurt him any longer?

Her heart hammered in her chest. _It is done. It is done, and we must all live with it._

The door opened with a creak that did nothing to slow the pounding of Dany's heart. Ser Jorah stepped through, shutting it behind him, and nodded at her.

"Your Grace."

Dany had barely heard his voice since before the wedding. He had mumbled his way through the ceremony, and spoken not a word to her during the feast afterward. And she had not seen him at all today. She had missed his voice, she realized.

She smiled at him with more ease than she felt. "I do not think you are required to call me 'Your Grace' any longer," she said, "now that you are a king."

"Half a king," he snorted. He would not meet her eyes, though Dany did see him cast a glance over her bared breast.

"One of two is not half," she replied. "Your Grace."

Jorah frowned. "Truly, I prefer 'Ser.'"

Daario loved the idea of being a king. He had muttered it as he made love to her – "King Daario and Queen Daenerys" - and jested with her about the hair colors that would best compliment a crown.

Dany could not imagine Jorah ever wearing a crown. She could hardly imagine him a king at all, and yet he had asked her to marry him knowing full well what she was – he had been the first man to declare her his liege, to pledge his service to the crown. Did he not understand what it would mean to love her?

"You would truly prefer not to be wed to a queen?" she quipped.

"That is not what I said, Daenerys."

_But is it what you meant?_ She had not had time to think it until now, preoccupied as she had been with Daario the previous evening. But what sort of bridegroom scowled through his wedding? She had known he would not be happy to share her, but it _was_ his idea in the first place, and she had thought he would at least be happy to have her as his wife. Was that not why she had married him?

He sighed, and looked up at her – _finally_ – but did not move any closer. She allowed him to study her, and even stood a bit straighter so that he could see the gown to its full effect.

"Qartheen," he muttered. "An interesting choice."

"You seemed to admire them when we were in Qarth." Jorah turned slightly red at that, and she smiled. "I thought it would please you."

He made no response, but even in the candlelight Dany could see his eyes darken, and the roll of his throat as he swallowed.

"I wanted you to remember where we've been," she added, taking a few careful steps toward him, "and how far we have come."

"I have not forgotten."

His voice was thick, and Dany feared she had not pleased him at all, but rather upset him again. So she closed the gap between them, and placed a hand on his cheek.

"Tonight there is only us, my bear."

Jorah sighed again, and cupped her face in his hands.

"Daenerys," he began, "I know I am not a young man, and not worthy of your beauty. But…" He traced his fingers along the lines of her face, so slowly. "I wish you had given me a chance…to show you…"

"You may show me now."

Dany had expected him to act on her words, or at least move, but he did not. He seemed to be waiting for something, so she reached up on her toes and kissed him.

His hands stretched around her neck and wove into her hair as he returned the kiss, parting her lips gently with the tip of his tongue, and this time her mouth opened for him when she told it to.

_Still sweet_, she thought, her own tongue exploring further, tasting him.

She had only just begun to familiarize herself with his mouth when he removed it. Dany gasped in disappointment, but Jorah's lips soon returned to her, trailing slowly down the curve of her neck to her collarbone, and then further down, until they reached her exposed breast and lingered there. His tongue flicked across her bare nipple; the heat of his breath made the air around it feel colder, and when he abandoned it to return to her lips a chill ran down her spine.

His kisses were hard now, and she could feel the press of his manhood straining against her thigh. She pressed back against him, but to her surprise he released her mouth and pulled away.

"Daenerys," he said, "Is this truly what you want?"

She hadn't thought about it, truly. She had married him, and had known what their wedding night would entail. But did she want it?

She had told Ser Jorah she did not want him. She had slapped him, on Balerion, angered by his presumption. She had been so confused, after he kissed her. She could not deny that she had enjoyed it, but she had told herself it was only loneliness, that it had been too long since she had felt the touch of a man.

Yet she had been with Daario yesterday, and today she still enjoyed Jorah's kisses. Dany wasn't sure what that meant, but she was sure she wanted to find out.

In place of an answer, she reached her palm down and curled it around his arousal.

Jorah drew a sharp breath in, and then he claimed her mouth again, and she looped her arms around his neck to pull him in closer. His fingers slipped down from her neck and across her shoulders, his left hand brushing aside the thin strap of fabric that held her gown to her body. As it fell to the floor, his thumbs followed it down her arms, across the tips of her breasts, until his hands stretched around the curve of her arse.

Though he held her tightly against his hips, Dany needed to be closer. She tugged at the fabric of his tunic and slid her hands underneath, brushing the soft trail of hairs that led into his breeches, and he swiftly pulled it over his head and tossed it to the floor. When his chest met hers, his bare skin warm against her breasts and stomach, she let a soft sigh escape her lips, and Jorah echoed it with a low rumble.

She could not remember exactly what followed, but suddenly she was lying on her back on her bed, with her bear leaning over her, planting soft kisses along her neck and collarbone.

Jorah sat back on his knees to look at her. It was not the first time he had seen her in this state of undress; she had risen from Drogo's funeral pyre naked and hairless before her _khalasar_, and there had been that night on _Balerion, _and he'd seen certain parts of her many times in Qarth. But she had not seen _him_ before, and it suddenly seemed vastly unfair to her that he was sitting there gazing over her exposed form while still wearing his breeches, so she reached up to fumble with the laces until he helped her slide them down, kicking them off of his feet as he arched his body back over hers.

They hovered there for a minute, laid bare to one another for the first time. It seemed like so long ago that she had first seen him in Pentos and wondered about the dark Westerosi knight lurking in Drogo's manse. _If I look back I am lost_, Dany thought, and she met her husband's eyes, and nodded slowly.

Jorah held her gaze as he entered her, pressing slowly in until he filled her completely.

"Daenerys," he breathed. The look on his face made Dany fear that it was already over, but he steadied himself and drew back gingerly so he could return again, and she moaned softly as his cock stroked her sex.

He moved carefully above her, keeping her with him as he pushed deeper, keeping control. But Dany wasn't ready to let her knight have control just yet. She pressed her hands against his chest to turn him over, and though at first he looked confused, he acquiesced, and lay still beneath her.

For several moments he allowed her to ride him, and she marveled at the sight of her knight spread out beneath her, his neck stretched out as he moaned softly. But then he sat up all at once, so that she was straddling him, and curled his legs underneath her. His fingers gripped her back, and he had seized her mouth again, and rocked his hips in a way that sent a shock of pleasure through Dany's body.

It took her awhile to find the rhythm of it, but when she finally matched his pace the sensation hit her like a wave, the familiar pressure coiling deep inside.

She met his eyes again. Something was happening that had not happened to her before, not on her first wedding night, nor last night. Daario had been…athletic, and skilled, and she had enjoyed their wedding night, but Ser Jorah made love like a drowning man searching for air, like she was the only thing in the world to him.

"Jorah," she moaned, feeling the pressure building to its peak.

He groaned against her neck. His breath was ragged, and she knew he was close as well. "Say my name again," he commanded.

She did, but it was more a cry than a word, and then she was over the edge, and falling, and Jorah's fingers clenched, pressing hard into her skin as he fell with her.

They were still for a long time, panting in each other's arms. When Dany had slowed her pulse and caught her breath again, she kissed her knight again. He still held her firmly in his arms; she was almost afraid to move, to end the safe, warm feeling of his body wrapped around her. It felt like…like…_home._

She had nearly drifted off when she felt Jorah lean her gently back onto the bed. She stretched lazily along it, waiting for him to stretch out next to her so she could rest her head on his broad shoulder and drape an arm across his stomach.

Dany barely felt his hands thread into her hair before her eyes fluttered shut, and everything faded into the rise and fall of her husband's chest.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Copyright stuff blah. Sorry you hate fanfic so much, Martin.

**AN:** This is as much as I have written for what was initially supposed to be a one-shot. I have some vague plot ideas for continuing it, but it could also stand on its own. Opinions as to whether I should add more and/or where to take it are appreciated. :)

Also, this chapter immediately follows the preceding one, time-wise. I wasn't sure if that was clear in the beginning, so just wanted to point it out.

* * *

Daenerys dreamed again that night.

She had not slept without dreams since she had taken Meereen, but every night the dreams were different. Last night, with Daario in her bed, she had dreamt of three dragons in a fighting pit. The largest watched as the two smaller beasts, blue and black, circled one another, tensed for the fight, but when they breathed their fire it was the big silver dragon who burned away in the flames.

She had felt so alone when she woke, and when Daario stirred she had thought he might comfort her, but then he had mumbled, "It was only a dream, my queen. Go back to sleep." And so she had curled herself tighter under the sheets, and prayed she would not dream again.

Tonight she dreamt of the Red Keep, her father's seat in Kings Landing. The palace that was hers by rights. She had never seen it, but Viserys had spoken of it so often that she sometimes believed she had. In the dream the silver dragon towered over the castle, burning everything in its sight, and she exulted. In the dragon's body she reached out to touch the Iron Throne, but its blades cut through her scales, and her blood ran along its edges. When she tried to scream, only fire came from the dragon's mouth, igniting the bloody throne, and it all began to slip away as she fell through the ground, deeper and deeper…

When she woke she was sweating, and she could not stop a small cry from escaping her lips. She felt an arm fall over her waist, but for a moment she could not remember who it belonged to. She rolled onto her side and pulled the arm across her, clutching it to her chest.

Jorah nuzzled her hair in response, muttering sleepily in her ear.

"What troubles you, my queen?"

Dany shook her head. "It was only a dream."

He waited for her to continue, stretching his body a little so he could hold her closer.

"What did you dream of?"

She hesitated a moment. "Westeros," she whispered. "Fire and blood."

Jorah exhaled slowly but said nothing. Instead he pressed his lips to her shoulder and ran a thumb along her hand where it gripped his own, and Dany knew he had understood.

_I would have had to explain to Daario. _Could she ever explain to Daario what Westeros meant to her? Would he ever understand?

Dany didn't want to think about Daario – or her dreams - anymore. She turned to face her husband and wrapped her arms around his waist.

"What would our wedding have been like in Westeros, Jorah?"

He thought a moment. "Well…that depends."

"On what?"

"In the south – in Kings Landing - we would be wed by the High Septon, in the Sept of Baelor, before the eyes of the Seven."

_Were my parents wed there?_ "What does the Sept of Baelor look like?"

"I do not know, my queen. I have visited Kings Landing on only a few occasions, and never had cause to go to a sept."

"Why not?"

"My house worships the old gods, Daenerys. Not the Seven."

_Oh._ "And if we were wed before the old gods?"

He smiled. "That is done in the godswood, before a heart tree."

"A tree? Outside?"

"Even in winter, yes."

"And what does a heart tree look like?"

"Pure white, with blood red leaves, and the faces of ancients carved into their bark. There are few left in Westeros now, but it is said that beyond the Wall they grow in abundance."

Dany pushed back so she could look at him. "You are jesting. Trees do not have faces."

"Weirwoods do, _khaleesi._ It is said that the children of the forest carved them, and that the gods see through their eyes. Their sap dries red, and when it drips it sometimes seems as though the gods weep tears of blood."

_How strange, and sad. And beautiful. _That seemed right for him somehow, for the sort of gods that a man like Jorah Mormont would follow.

She tipped her head up to kiss him, and he brushed a strand of silver hair back from her face.

Dany had never heard of a heart tree before, though she remembered a little about Westerosi weddings from the songs and histories Ser Jorah had given to her. _At my first wedding. My Dothraki wedding._ She, the last Targaryen, had wed one husband in the Dothraki style, and now two more in Ghisgari fashion, to please the Meereenese people who despised her. She might never have a wedding like the ones she had read about, or enter the Sept of Baelor, or see a heart tree.

Jorah brushed his lips over hers, his fingers weaving through her hair. _Yet I still managed to find a Westerosi husband_, she thought. But she had married a man from the Free Cities as well. Was this her fate - forever torn between Essos and Westeros, never truly at peace?

_What would a Tyroshi wedding be like?_ Dany shook the thought away. Westeros was her home, not Tyrosh. And not Meereen, either. Had she forgotten?

"Do you know the words, Jorah? Do you remember them?"

He did not have to ask her what words she meant. "The old or the new?"

"Either," she replied, "Whichever you prefer."

"With this kiss I pledge my love, and take you for my lady and wife," he whispered against her mouth, "and my queen," and kissed her again. "Now you repeat it."

"With this kiss I pledge my love, and take you for my lord and husband." Dany kissed him back harder, parting his lips with her tongue, and his hand tightened around the back of her neck.

When he rolled her over onto her back and covered her body with his she thought they were done with words, but he spoke softly between kisses, continuing the ceremony.

"Here in the sight of gods and men…"

_Can the gods see us here, so far from home? _

"I do solemnly proclaim…Jorah of House Mormont…and Daenerys Stormborn…of House Targaryen…Queen of the Andals and the First Men…ruler of the Seven Kingdoms…and protector of the realm…"

Dany laughed. "I don't think we need all the titles."

"Daenerys of House Targaryen," he repeated, "to be man and wife…"

"And king and queen," she added.

"One flesh…one heart…one soul…now and forever…" he slid his hands down her bare torso and settled them on her waist. "And cursed be the one who comes between them."

"Cursed be the one who comes between us," Dany whispered, and brought her hips up to meet his.

Jorah groaned, and then they did not speak again until morning.

* * *

Her heart was heavy all the next day. She held court as usual, listened to the moanings of the Meereenese nobles, the sorrows of her people. Her tokar felt more tightly wound than it ever had. _Queen of the Rabbits_, she thought.

The King of the Rabbits sat on her left, though he had shunned his pair of floppy ears in favor of his usual outlandish garb. The seat to her right was empty; Ser Jorah had taken his customary position as Commander of her Queensguard, standing before her ebony bench with his hand on his sword.

When she had entered her throne room that morning, her captains and advisors were waiting for her, and so were both her husbands. Daario had swaggered up to her immediately, seizing her in his arms, and kissed her violently before the entire assembly.

"Bright queen," he said when he had released her, "I have missed you."

Dany only blushed in response, and flashed him a shy smile. She thought she heard one of her bloodriders mutter something in Dothraki, but couldn't make out the words. They were waiting with Ser Jorah and the others as she made her way to her makeshift throne, King Daario at her heels. She could not bring herself to look at Jorah's face, but planted a kiss on his cheek in apology.

"Husband."

"_Khaleesi._" His use of her Dothraki title made Dany nervous. Was he angry with her? It was not her fault if Daario overstepped a bit sometimes…should she have reprimanded him for being so forward in front of her court? In front of her other husband?

Perhaps she ought to have thought more carefully about their arrangements at court. Should she keep only one king on the throne at a time, the way she kept only one in her bed each night? Had Aegon the Conqueror kept his sister queens apart, Visenya ruling one day and Rhaenys the next? For the thousandth time she wished there were another Targaryen by her side, someone to tell her what to do. How to rule the way her ancestors had. How to love two men at once.

"Will you join us, Ser?" For Daario had already taken his place at the side of her bench, and she could feel his eyes on her.

Jorah spoke carefully. "My place is here."

_He _is_ angry_, she thought, until he pulled her gently towards him and pressed his lips to her forehead.

_My knight_. _He would sooner protect me than rule at my side. _Dany didn't know how to feel about that, but she sat her rabbit's throne without protest and let her Queensguard keep watch over her court.

The heavy feeling followed her all day, and grew worse as each of her people came forth, Hizdahr zo Lorak complaining about the fighting pits, her Unsullied reporting the activities of the Sons of the Harpy, former slaves and former masters at odds for countless offenses. Meereen had begun to seem an endless pit of mud, sucking her in with its flow of troubles, dragging her ever further from her Iron Throne.

After the tension of the day, she had expected another nightmare, but her dream that night was a good one.

In her sleep, Dany stood before a forest of heart trees, blood red against stark white, blanketed in snowfall. She felt the cold on her face, and when she touched the largest tree it was cold as well, its bark smooth. She laughed, and brushed the red sap from beneath its carved eyes, and then she felt something warm and soft cover her shoulders. When she turned Ser Jorah was standing before her, in a white cloak and gilded armor, and the cloak around her own shoulders was green velvet lined with fur. He closed the clasp around her neck and bent to kiss her, and then she was on the ground, in his arms, and they were making love as they had on their delayed wedding night, only this time there was a bearskin beneath them, and a fire burned in a wooden hearth…

She woke all at once, and her chest hurt. She wanted to fall back into the dream, but knew it was gone.

_Where is my husband? Which one is it, tonight?_

She reached out a hand, but touched no one. Confused, she sat up and looked over the bed, and found Daario perched on the edge, fully dressed, pulling on his boots. She reached out a hand to touch his shoulder, but he drew away.

"You were dreaming of your _other_ husband, I think," he growled, "perhaps you ought to summon _him._"

He left in a storm, and slammed her door behind him.

Dany's blood was racing. _What have I done?_

She yanked a nightshift over her head and followed Daario out the door, but her feet led her down the hall, past her servants' quarters and towards the slightly larger rooms where her bloodriders slept, and her Queensguard. She pounded on the door with a fist, not caring who might hear.

"Jorah!" It came out like a sob, so she tried again. "Jorah!"

He was half asleep when he opened the door, and half naked, but she didn't care. "Daenerys?" he groaned, "What…"

Dany flung herself at him, locking her arms around his neck, and began to weep softly into his shoulder. His arms went around her, his face buried in her hair, and she felt safe again.

"I want to go _home_, Jorah."

He held her tightly but did not speak. There was nothing to say. _It is done, and we all must live with it._ Dany was so tired of doing what she must; she must please her people, must be their floppy-eared ruler, must be fair to both her husbands when she wanted to be free to spend her nights where she chose. But she had chosen this, hadn't she?

She had stayed in Meereen – ignoring Jorah's council – because she believed it was right for her people, and married two men because she believed it was right for her. But what did she truly want?

_What have I done?_


End file.
